


Do I Dare Eat a Peach?

by imbellarosa



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Multi, anxiety tw, but this is more about Q, depression tw, there are mentioned relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 08:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbellarosa/pseuds/imbellarosa
Summary: And indeed, there will be time / for a hundred visions and revisions / which a minute will reverse.





	Do I Dare Eat a Peach?

**Author's Note:**

> OMG My SECOND The Magicians fic in 24 hrs WHAATT??? It's because y'all are so kind. Thank you so much for the kind comments and amazing responses. And also, because the fact that Q is such an amazing depiction of mental illness and how he struggles with it and is still a hero is so important to me. This one is dear to me. Please be kind.

_ Do I dare eat a peach?  _

 

_ And indeed, there will be time/for a hundred visions and revisions/which a minute will reverse.  _

 

If you asked Quentin, he would say that Julia was his first love. The first person he would die for; they had grown up in the secret corners of childhood that could never be reclaimed. She had been his first partner in crime - partner in magic. But by the time he realized it, it was too late. She had fallen in love with someone else, and there was something hot rising in the pit of his stomach, and there was a grey veil over the rest of the world that had nothing to do with Julia - he could admit that now - but he thought that, maybe, if she loved him, too, he could see in color, again.

But there was Chris. And then Alex. And then James. And he really  _ liked _ James. And Julia loved him. 

“How about in ten years,” he would ask, half drunk and half joking. “Or twenty? Or fifty?”

“I dunno, Q,” she would slur and cuddle into his side, more tired than drunk, but drunk enough to let her guard down. “But I’ll still love him tomorrow. That’s what counts, right?”

She would love him as long as she could, and no longer. Q hadn’t thought about James in years. 

But he found Brakebills, and it was like he finally understood - love wasn’t what he needed, it was  _ magic _ . It was like spending your whole life with only an oxygen tank underwater, and then finally reaching the surface.

***

_ Are you trying to tell me that it gets better?  _

 

_ I am trying to tell you that you are not alone. _

***

For the first time in his life, he had friends, plural, who took him out to parties and hid in corners and lounged in front of fireplaces and teased him, and they didn’t know that his brain was a bit broken, and then they did, and they didn’t care. He was so grateful for that. And there was this - there was this girl. And she could bend light, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes, and it was like meeting  _ himself  _ for the first time. He knew what it was to be alone, and he never wanted that for her. 

And when he realized that, he thought,  _ this is what love must be _ . Not wanting the other person to ever feel the pain that you had felt. Wanting to protect them from the world, and protect the world from them. And Alice was like - sometimes, he felt like he was staring straight into a supernova. She was beautiful and powerful and she burned so brightly, so fiercely. He had forgotten that there was a danger to that, too.

When she died, he didn’t think he could keep going. He would have done anything - he would have given his life a hundred times over - just to get her back. The world had been grey before that, but he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed that there was a weight growing on his shoulders, and on his mind, because he was  _ strong _ . He was a  _ king _ . They were finally getting shit done.

***

_ Where do you think magic comes from? It doesn’t come from talent. It comes from pain. _

***

After, he would remember the rest of it. The way that when he was with her, it was beautiful, but it was also hard. She would retreat into her mind, and he would retreat into his, and neither knew how to help each other. And they hurt each other so badly, in so many ways. Q thought she would never look at him again when he cheated on her. And then she died, trying to save them from the Beast. And then she was back, but it wasn’t her, and it hurt to think about, sometimes, how he had no idea when he lost her. How he didn’t remember what it was like to simply love her. 

***

Growing up, it was like there was something in his head. A constant companion; someone who always made sure to tell him when he made a mistake.  _ Not good enough, not strong enough, not powerful enough, or brave enough _ . And he would spiral, and they whole world would look like a shuffling deck of cards, a queen here, a Jack there, spades, diamonds, hearts, hearts, hearts. 

Medication helped. For a while. And then Dean Fog told him he wasn’t sick, he was lonely, and he didn’t need to be lonely anymore. But he was. What the  _ fuck  _ was wrong with him? He was  _ literally  _ in the best possible place to be and he was sad, and scared. But it was..it was better.

For a while, there was more color. Like when Margo told him that his pain would make him stronger. Or when Eliot would grab him and whisk him onto their next adventure. Or when Kady and Penny would sit and study in a corner, heads together, whispering about God knows what. It was - it wasn’t good, but it was good enough. And there was still Alice. He thought - he thought that if he could get that to fall into place, then the rest would fall into place. The only color he would need was blue. 

***

_ Would you say you’re more merciful or brave? _

_ I would  say I’m neither, but I do plan to be spectacular _

***

When he went to Fillory that was, he would hold on to his son’s hand as the boy fell asleep. He would tell him stories of Julia and Margo and Penny and Kady and Alice He would tell him stories of the world he grew up in, and he would never mention the cloud that always loomed over his head, because, for once,  _  it was not there _ . He was strong and capable, and he knew what came next. For the first time, ever, he would look in the mirror and feel pride.

_ He _ had made this small family, had made a life that worked, and a home that was kind, and soft nights in front of the fireplace and a million failures to reflect the beauty of life in a single image. Sometimes, he would look around him and think that it was an impossible task. There was beauty in Eliot’s smile, and Arielle’s laugh, and Teddy’s wails. There was beauty in the gentle way Eliot held him when she died, and the way that his son seemed to understand that something was different - would never be the same. There was beauty in the simple joy that came from failing, over and over, and so getting to keep this family for a little bit longer.

***

_ You’ve solved it? _

_ With a friend. We solved it together. _

***

The key never told him anything he hadn’t told himself before.  _ Worthless, broken, unwanted, failure. No one would ever love you - ever choose you. You break everything you touch _ . 

Specks of light reflected off of the ocean as he tied himself to the mast. He thought they looked like tear drops. But the thing was, it was right. He didn’t know how to love anyone. He didn’t even know how to love himself. 

_ How about Teddy _ , a voice whispered, and it sounds familiar, but he can’t quite place it.  _ Q, you loved him _ . 

_ He wasn’t real _ .  _ None of it was _ .

And so, when the time came, it was so easy to volunteer. He gave up everything for the quest. And he would have nothing left: not Julia, not Alice, not Margo, or Teddy, or his father. Not Eliot. So he could do this, he could give them a chance to have the life they wanted, with all the people they loved and had yet to love. 

***

_ Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I’m alive in here _ .

***

One night, Quentin wakes in a cold sweat. There is still no color to the world, but he feels as though something has woken up inside of him, something vaguely orange and warm that envelopes his heart, which has been broken for longer than he could remember. 

I  _ love  _ you, he thinks, and he is talking to Eliot, and to Julia, and to Alice, but most of all, he is talking to that mottled thing that beats in his chest.  _ You are okay _ .  _ You will be okay. We are tired, now, but we have known a life in color. And we can wait.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked it! I read every comment twice, and I love them w all my heart. Please come say hi at imbellarosa.tumblr.com!


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